A move of his hand, a simple signal to her primal need. The stroke of his fingers over his bearded face. The sliding of his palm along the muscled form of his neck. One slow, deliberate reach from his shoulder to his thigh. One hand hovering below his visibly throbbing arousal. Teasing her, calling her to action.
One simple statement to her. One invitation extended to join him. One flood of heated blood, her racing pulse is felt throughout her body. One force of breath expelled from her blushing, tongue moistened lips. One stroke of his fingers, teasing her breasts, leaving her begging for more of his touch. One aching, blood flushed secret place, tingling, she self consciously, but obediently, strokes herself as he looks on.
As he watches her, desperate, needful, compliant, he is filled with both Sunday love and Saturday night lust for his woman.
She has been his for several decades, yet their desire thrives. Despite the effects of time and life on both their bodies and souls. She remains under his spell…
M J Davis